


Lies of Omission

by AcornsOnTheGround



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, BatBoys need to use their words, But everything is consensual here folks, Dick Grayson is a self-sacrificing idiot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Jason Todd is a good guy, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Not your traditional BDSM fic, Safewords, Under-negotiated Kink, fear toxin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcornsOnTheGround/pseuds/AcornsOnTheGround
Summary: Jason is kinda into BDSM.Dick kinda isn't.  But he is into Jason, and a little pain isn't something he hasn't experienced before.  He can handle it.It's fine.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 74
Kudos: 360





	Lies of Omission

**Author's Note:**

> I've been turning over this story idea in my head forever, but it never felt right in other fandoms I've written in. Then I got kind of into Nightwing, and in my head, it worked really well with Jay/Dick.
> 
> Not beta'd

Sometimes, when they’re in the middle of things, Dick can hardly remember how they got here, to this point. To where Dick’s face down on the bed, wrists bound together in thick leather cuffs, arms stretched and protesting, shoulders burning, while Jason rains down blows from a cane onto his ass and the back of his thighs. It fucking hurts. A lot. And he reeeeally doesn't like it. But he doesn’t utter the slightest protest. Hadn’t, while he’d held his arms out for his wrists to be bound, or when Jason tied him naked to the bed, or when the cane started landing—just this side of skin-splitting—on the tender skin of his upper thighs. Dick doesn’t make a sound. Instead he squeezes his fists until he suspects his nails are raising blood on his palms and until he knows he’s tasting the metal tang of it in his mouth from the way he’s biting his cheeks. He keeps quiet and waits for it to be over. 

* * *

Jason came back from the dead angry, carrying a rage so deep and dark inside him that, though Dick hates to admit it now, he had sometimes wondered if there was any hope for him. It took a while. There were a lot of worrying moments, and not a little bit of murder and mayhem left in his wake. But the thing was, Jason _tried._ He worked so fucking hard. Dick’s never seen someone fight back against their instincts as much as Jason had in order to claw his way back from what a lot of people probably thought was the point of no return. He worked at it for months. He got therapy. He talked about his feelings (sort of), and made amends to those he hurt. And after many months, he’d built a life for himself, one with a more solid foundation than he probably ever had before.

There are still rough edges, to be sure. Jason can be quick to anger, even if he doesn’t let the anger spiral into blinding rage (but who is Dick to judge). It still doesn’t take much for Bruce to ruffle his feathers, but when that happens, he does the mature thing and slips away, removes himself from the provocation, goes to cool off. Sometimes he disappears for a few hours, sometimes for a few days. But he always comes back, and he and Bruce keep working on it. Jason is never going to have Dick’s sunny disposition, or be as dutiful as Tim, but hopefully he's now less murderous than Damian. But none of that matters. What Jason is, is exactly who he should be, the sum of his parts, the unique and remarkable person he’s grown himself into being. A _good_ person. And Dick has long stopped worrying that one day Jason might not come back. 

More and more, Dick is drawn to him. Physically, yes; it’s not like Jason's hard on the eyes since he returned as an adult. And it may have inspired some lust in Dick. But there’s more to it than that. Watching Jason’s metamorphosis, Dick can’t help but be impressed. And being impressed quickly turns to respect. And that…well, Dick’s always had a thing for competent people he respects. And pretty soon, well, shit…Dick might be in love.

* * *

One early morning, after a particularly adrenaline-fueled night of patrol, Jason comes back to Dick’s place to help stitch up a small gash on Dick's side, and when he’s done, somehow, they end up kissing. Dick couldn't say who initiated it; they both kind of collapse into one another. As the sun comes up, there's more sloppy kissing and even sloppier hand jobs in Dick’s bed, and then they both more or less pass out, exhausted but satisfied. 

Dick wakes a few hours later to see Jason sitting, fully clothed, on the edge of the bed, bent over with his head in his hands. Vulnerability radiates off of him, and Dick reaches out a tentative hand to him. “Little Wing?” he says. But when Dick's fingers brush his shoulder, Jason flinches away and Dick pulls back.

He turns to face Dick with a scowl on his face. “Okay, first, don’t call me that after we have actually fucked. It’s creepy,” Jason says. “And second,” he turns back around, “this was a bad idea.”

Dick’s heart sinks. “Why do you say that?” he asks quietly, sitting back and tugging the sheet to cover himself up.

“I’m not who you want.” Dick can hear all Jason’s defenses slamming into place like they haven’t for months. 

“Um, no, you are exactly who I want. Have wanted for the last six months or so.”

Jason snaps his head around and looks at Dick in surprise. Dick just shrugs. After staring a few seconds, Jason shakes his head and turns away again.

Dick climbs out of the other side of the bed and snatches some underwear from his drawer and pulls them on. He walks around to sit down next to Jason.

“Tell me what’s going on, Jay.”

“Look, there are things I want from a relationship, that are…not…standard.”

Dick thinks about that for a moment. “You know I grew up in a circus, right? Before I went to live with Bruce for seven years? With _Bruce_. There is nothing about any part of my life that anyone could reasonably define as ‘standard’.”

Jason turns and gives him a penetrating look. “In bed. There are things I like in bed that you’re not gonna want.”

“How about you let me decide that.”

Jason glares at him but Dick can see a whole range of emotions shifting in his eyes. “I wanna hurt you,” he says, inflectionless. “I want to hold you down and smack you around and fuck you so hard you’re feeling it for days.”

Dick blinks. “O-kay. So, um, is this a thing you always want, or is this just a me, thing?”

“As annoying as you can be, Goldie, it’s not just you. It’s what I like. In bed, I like to dominate. I like to inflict pain.”

Dick processes that for a moment. “Can I ask…why?”

Jason is quiet as he thinks. “I think the dominant thing is about control.”

That makes sense. Jason’s early life—and when he'd returned—had been so full of chaos and lack of control that Dick can understand the desire or need to have more of it.

“And the pain part?”

Jason sighs and scrubs a hand down his face before turning back to Dick. “I don't really know. It’s about trust, maybe. Like…there’s a part of me that gets off on the idea that my partner trusts me enough to take them to the edge, trusts that I won’t push them over. That I’ll take care of them.”

Dick grins. “You want to take care of me, Jaybird?”

“Don’t be a dick, _Dick_.”

Dick lets the grin drop and he takes Jason’s hand in his own, threads their fingers together. “I trust you, Jay,” he says quietly.

Jason sucks in a quiet gasp, looks at Dick, eyes wide with…hope? It’s a heady feeling, to think that he could put that expression on Jason’s face, and it doesn’t take much for him to say, “It’s not something I’ve done before, but…”

“But?”

“But," he shrugs, "we can give it a try.” He leans in and kisses him. 

Jason turns his body and wraps an arm around Dick, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. When he pulls back a moment later, Dick can only see the thinnest blue-green sliver around his wide back pupils. “We’ll start slow. Work up to things,” Jason says, earnest but serious.

Something warm ignites in Dick’s chest to see how obviously happy Jason is, how Dick had said words that did that. There isn’t much Dick wouldn’t do to keep seeing that expression. Not _much_ , but, “Can I say no to some things?”

“Yeah,” Jason nods emphatically. “Yes, of course.”

“No humiliation,” Dick says quickly. That would be a deal breaker for him. 

Jason nods easily. “No problem. Not really my thing anyway. And, just to be clear, I’m not into heavy kink. Bondage and a little impact play is all I’m talking about.”

Impact play. Okay. Why not? It’s not like Dick hasn’t been roughed up countless times in the past, and he trusts that nothing Jason would do to him would ever come close to some of the pain he’s experienced as Robin or Nightwing, or hell, even in some of the more painful training accidents in his early life in the circus. “Whatever you want, Jay,” Dick says, with only the slightest reservations.

They talk a little more about it, what Jason thinks he likes (tying Dick down, slapping his ass with his hand, maybe with other things, eventually); set ground rules (Dick doubles down on the humiliation, adds bodily waste; Jason’s thankfully got no interest in either); Jason makes Dick choose a safeword (he randomly chooses 'Detroit' because it’s meaningless, with no baggage for either of them). They discuss condoms and agree that since both of them are regularly tested for all manner of unpleasantness, it’s safe to forego them for now.

The lightness Jason’s wearing as he leaves Dick’s apartment that morning goes a long way to reassuring Dick that he’s done the right thing. 

* * *

They dip their toes in slowly, and the first time they give things a try, it’s obvious Jason is holding back. He mostly just wrestles Dick down, pins his wrists in a firm grasp while he fucks Dick’s mouth with his tongue and grinds against him until they’re both slick with sweat and pre-come, cock gliding against cock. Dick pushes back, fights him a little at first to see what Jason will do. He just grips Dick’s wrists tighter, grinds harder, and whatever else is going on, Dick can’t deny it feels good. He comes a minute later and that seems to be all Jason needs to tip over the edge as well. They’re both still panting when Jason rolls off of him and immediately sits up, taking Dick’s wrists tenderly into his hands, inspecting them for damage, running his warm fingers over the red skin. It won’t bruise, but even if it did, Dick’s not particularly worried: his Nightwing suit would cover them.

Dick whuffs where he’s lying sprawled naked and sated on his bed. “I’m fine, Jay.”

“Are you sure?

Dick rolls his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“So, you didn’t mind it? The being held down?”

Dick closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. “Mm mm,” he hums.

He’s surprised at how easy it was to give over power to Jason in bed. If Jason needs control, Dick can recognize that he doesn’t entirely mind giving it up. He’s spent his entire life keeping tight control over his body, first in the circus and later training and working with Bruce. The truth is, it felt kind of good to just let go, to know someone else was there to catch him. 

And if Jason is going to touch him like that after, careful and sweet, eyes filled with concern…well, maybe that feels kinda good, too, after a decade and a half of Bruce’s particular brand of low-tactile affection.

* * *

They fuck—actually fuck—a few times without any of the other stuff, getting used to each other’s bodies, finding their pace. There’s nothing about any of that that Dick dislikes. Jason _knows_ how to use his body for another person's pleasure, quickly learns what Dick responds to most, and uses that knowledge expertly. It's by far the best sex Dick's ever had. One night, a couple weeks into this new thing of theirs, after he fucks Dick to two orgasms, Jason rolls his head to the side and says, “Hey, what do you think about trying the other stuff, next time?”

He’s nervous. Dick can hear it in his voice, sees it in how his eyes don’t quite meet Dick’s. Jason’s putting his vulnerability on the line. With his past, he’s had to build a protective shell around himself, but he’s peeling that back for Dick, giving him ammunition to do harm. There’s no way Dick would ever turn that back around and hurt Jason. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dick says, doing his best to inject some enthusiasm into the words. “Let’s give it a try.”

Jason’s smile is breathtaking. 

* * *

The next time they fuck is the first time Jason hits him. Dick’s nervous, beforehand, but he doesn't let it show. Jason’s whole life—before and after the Pit—has been filled with enough uncertainty and insecurity for several lifetimes. He’s laid himself bare, trusted Dick with this part of himself, and Dick won't betray that trust. So he shoves his own meaningless issues deep down inside and forces himself to relax as much as he can. 

Dick’s trussed up, wrists tied together above his head with soft restraints, then secured to the headboard. He’s face-down on his stomach, head cradled between his arms so he can’t see what’s coming and isn’t expecting the first open-handed smack on his ass. He gasps in surprise.

Jason freezes where he’s straddling Dick’s knees. “You okay?”

Dick lifts his head and cranes his neck to look at Jason. There’s so much concern there that Dick almost laughs. He’d barely hit him, really; Dick can take a lot more pain than that. He knows from experience. “Yeah, just…caught me by surprise a little bit, that's all. I’m good, Jay.”

“You sure?”

Dick laughs. Jason’s concern about a single slap is actually ridiculously sweet. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

There’s a brief hesitation during which Dick drops his head back down, this time steeling himself so he doesn’t get caught off guard again. He wants this for Jason. For them. 

Jason apparently believes him because he unleashes on Dick’s ass with a series of stinging slaps, starting mild and gaining in intensity, until Dick’s gasping—quietly so Jay won’t hear—at the burn. It goes on and on—Dick loses count—until his ass is almost numb from it. Then, as abruptly as it started, it stops, and Jason shifts on the bed and shoves his face into Dick’s ass, laps at his hole, eats him out. Dick groans. No one’s ever done this to him before and it feels so fucking good that Dick can almost ignore the ten blunt fingers digging roughly into the fiery skin of his cheeks, pulling them apart. 

When Dick’s good and loose, Jason fucks him hard, fingers digging into his hips now, and Dick knows he’ll have bruises the next day. Jay keeps a running commentary while he pushes into Dick, about how beautiful he is, tied up for Jason, ass bright red. He occasionally smacks him again—hard—to emphasize his point. When Dick moans, he’s not sure if it’s from pain or pleasure—probably both—because his cock is rubbing on the sheet with every sharp thrust and despite the lingering discomfort, Dick's hard and getting close.

Jason comes with a sound Dick’s never heard him make in bed before, louder and longer and more primal. His hips stutter for a minute before he pulls out and flips Dick over. He expects Jason to untie him, but he doesn’t, and Dick starts to worry that maybe Jay’s not done roughing him up. Instead, Jason lies on his side next to Dick and kisses him sweetly, all soft tongue and gentle lips, edging him with his fist until Dick’s whining with every breath and pulling hard against the restraints, his entire body buzzing with need. When Jason finally lets him come, Dick does it with a shout, black creeping in at the edge of his vision with the way he’s panting. 

After, Jason releases his arms and Dick doesn't move, breathing hard as he tries to regain control over his uncoordinated limbs. He turns his head to look at Jason. He looks so…happy, more content than he’s looked since he came back.

Jason bends in and gives him another lingering kiss, then murmurs against his mouth, “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He scrambles out of the bed and Dick lies there in the afterglow, still no desire to move, much less go anywhere. His ass stings painfully and Dick shifts onto his side to take the pressure off, to try to get some relief from the discomfort. He hears Jason moving around in the bathroom, running the water, opening the cupboard. When he returns, it’s with a warm cloth that he uses to wipe the come off Dick’s chest and abdomen.

“Roll all the way over for me, huh?” Jason says quietly, nudging Dick. He obeys, pillowing his head on his arms while Jason carefully wipes the come from his crack and where some of it has slid down behind his balls. 

He hears the snap of a cap, then Jason says, “This might be a little cool.” Still, Dick isn’t quite prepared for the sensation when Jason starts rubbing some sort of cold cream or ointment into his ass with nimble fingers. Dick startles and hisses, but then the relief leeches in, soothing his fiery skin, and his body melts into the sheets.

“Feel better?” Jason asks.

Dick grunts. He’s wrung out, and Jason’s careful touch is lulling him into unconsciousness. It feels really good: Jason’s touch, his sweet concern, his tender care. “Gonna sleep now,” Dick mumbles.

Jason rubs his skin a little more, then he rolls Dick so he can spoon up behind him. Dick appreciates that Jason seems to take care not to press any part of his body against the abused skin of his ass. The last thing Dick registers before he sinks into a near-catatonic sleep, is the light press of Jason’s lips to the back of his neck. 

In that moment, on the brink between here and oblivion, Dick has no trouble convincing himself that it’s worth it. Everything's totally fine.

* * *

The next morning Dick wakes up to Jason’s fingers carding through his hair—an intimate gesture—but Jason’s holding himself distant, his eyes never quite meeting Dick’s. 

“Stop being stupid,” Dick mumbles, pressing his head harder into Jason’s hand.

“Are you alright?” Jason asks, other hand lightly skimming up and down Dick’s back.

“I’m great,” he answers.

“Are you sure?”

Dick lifts his head. “Jay, I have never in my life come harder than I did last night.” And it’s not even a lie. Once Jason had stopped hitting him and started kissing him, the pleasure center in Dick’s brain had come on-line pretty quickly and he’d had the most excruciatingly exquisite orgasm he can remember ever having.

Jason smiles, but Dick can see he’s still unsure, worried about Dick. Well, Dick will just have to make sure that he doesn’t give Jay any reason to worry about him. “It was perfect. _You_ were perfect.” Jason’s smile solidifies into something more confident and, yeah, if letting Jason hit him means Dick can see that smile more often, then Dick is more than okay with that.

So they keep doing it, and it’s fine. Dick’s had _much_ worse in life. The pain only sometimes reminds him of when Robin or Nightwing has come out on the worse end of things. But there’s a difference. Dick trusts Jason, knows he would never go too far. Dick can handle it. It’s fine. 

* * *

They escalate slowly. It’s weeks before Jason shows up with a riding crop, and when he does, Dick gives him a reassuring smile and doubles down on controlling his response. The sting of it is sharper, more focused than when Jason hit him with his hand. It hurts more, without a doubt, and the discomfort lingers for longer—a couple days, sometimes.

The flogger is surprisingly _less_ painful than the crop. The leather tails are soft and flexible and thud more than sting. Honestly, Dick doesn’t mind the flogger. Much. 

Dick swallows hard the night Jason shows up with a cane. The thin rattan is rigid and unyielding and the first time he uses it Dick almost unleashes his safeword. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and it might have actually slipped out if the first impact of the cane hadn't completely taken his breath away. He's considering it once he can breathe again--small, panting inhales--but he holds back when he imagines how Jason will react if he does. 

Jason wears his guilt like an albatross around his neck, and Dick still sometimes catches him watching Tim with obvious regret for everything he’d done to his ‘replacement’. But he’s not that guy anymore and Dick can’t imagine what it would do to Jason if Dick told him he was hurting him. So he clamps his mouth shut tight and presses his face into the pillow where the soft case will soak up the reflexive tears. He reminds himself that he’s had worse. Much worse. And this is Jason; he’s careful, he never breaks Dick’s skin, and he’s not going to do any permanent damage. Some of his own physical discomfort is a small price for Dick to pay for Jason’s happiness. All Dick has to do is just hold on a little longer, get through the bad part, and then…and then, Jay will make him feel great. And after, he’ll murmur sweet words and rub soothing balms and it will be worth it. 

* * *

And then Scarecrow returns, and everything goes to hell.

Dick has plenty of antidote for the fear toxin, the problem is there are about a dozen civilians who were exposed besides him and Dick doesn’t even consider using one of the doses himself. Instead, he rides it out the way Bruce had long ago instructed him for just this eventuality. It sucks. An hour later, Dick is leaning in an alley, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes trying to fight the assault of images ( _Jason covered in blood Batman lying dead Tim and Damian more blood screaming in pain_ ), when Tim arrives and gives him a dose of the anti-toxin. It helps, but given the late administration, it won’t get rid of 100% of the symptoms completely. It’s better though, and it lets him get back to doing the job he’s there to do.

When he drags himself to his apartment hours later, after Alf checks him over and he debriefs with Batman, there’s still a bit of it lingering in his system. He slaps together a peanut butter sandwich and shoves it into his mouth, steps into the shower just long enough to rinse the acrid smell of fear-induced sweat from his body, and pours himself into bed to sleep it off, hoping his dreams aren’t laced with the kinds of things he’d been seeing earlier. 

He startles awake with the sound of someone coming in through his window. He’s up with a batarang in his hand before he can even consciously think about it.

“Hey, it’s just me,” he hears Jason say. 

Dick pushes out a loud breath of relief and relaxes immediately. “Jesus, Jay,” he grunts, flopping back down on the bed, “can’t you just come in through the door like normal people?”

“Well I don’t think anyone will ever accuse me of being normal,” Jason says. He releases his helmet and takes it off, setting it on the bedside table. He doesn’t stop, passing through the bedroom, into the hall, and then Dick can hear his heavy boots hit the hard tile floor of the kitchen. The refrigerator opens and closes and a second later, Jason appears in his bedroom doorway. “You want a beer?” he asks, holding up the one in his hand.

Dick shakes his head and tosses his batarang onto the floor. “I could’ve taken your head off.”

“Eh,” Jason disagrees. “Your reflexes are too good for you to make that mistake.”

“My reflexes are shit when I’m dosed with fear toxin,” Dick mumbles. “Just…use the door, would you. I gave you a key for a reason.”

Jason’s beer has stopped two inches from his mouth, and the next second, it’s set down on the dresser just inside the door. Jason crosses the room in three steps, peeling his gloves off as he moves. “You got dosed with fear toxin?” He presses his hand to Dick’s forehead, and Dick bats it away. 

“’M fine.”

Jason grumbles and starts peeling off his clothes, beer apparently forgotten. He makes a quick trip into the bathroom and a few minutes later, the bed dips and he spoons up behind Dick, wrapping his arm around Dick’s middle and pulling him in close, kissing the back of his neck. 

Dick knows it's not real, but for a few seconds, his reality is that he's strapped down to the bed and Jason is coming at him with the cane. Dick jerks and shudders. “Please don’t,” he whimpers, pulling away and curling into a ball. Horrifying images assail him: Jason, hitting him too hard, breaking skin, blood all over. “Jay, I can’t…I don’t think I can bear it tonight, it hurts too much. Can we not? Please?” he begs, pushing back against what he knows isn’t true, trying to stay in the here and now.

“Hey, no,” Jason sooths behind him, “I wasn’t—” he stops, and seems to go very still. 

Dick lifts his head and cranes his neck, trying to turn and look at Jason, but he grips Dick tight and says, “We’re not doing anything tonight. Go to sleep, Dick.” 

The words are gentle, but there’s something underneath that Dick can’t quite put his finger on. Doesn’t matter. He tumbles into faltering sleep.

* * *

When Dick wakes up, his head is pounding. His throat is also sore, and his tongue feels thick, like he’s been panting for a long time. Or yelling. He really hopes he wasn’t yelling. Fucking fear toxin. Jason is there, but he’s not spooned up behind Dick anymore. Instead, he’s several disappointing inches away, the space between a cold chasm. He rolls over, tries to pull Jason closer.

“Detroit,” Jason says. The word is tight and when Dick finally looks closely, he can see that Jason looks exhausted—like he hasn't slept at all—and is clearly angry.

“Jay…what?” His head feels like it’s going to explode off his neck and he can’t think clearly enough to make sense of what Jason’s just said. 

“Go take a shower and get dressed. I’m making you some breakfast and we’re going to talk,” Jason says, then gets up and stalks out of the room.

“Bossy,” Dick mutters, but he drags himself up and heads for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later he’s feeling more human and is sitting with damp hair in worn, soft sweats perched on one of the two barstools at his kitchen counter. Jason pushes a large mug of strong coffee with a splash of cream in front of Dick, along with a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and three slices of toast with melting butter and Alfred’s plum jam. Dick’s ravenous, and he tucks into it immediately, plowing his way through a third of what’s on his plate before he remembers what happened in the bedroom. He sets down his fork and swallows. 

“Why’d you use my safeword back there?”

Jason takes a long pull off his own coffee mug before setting it down and crossing his arms where he leans against the counter. “Because I have a suspicion,” he says very slowly, “that you wouldn’t use it no matter what I ever did to you.”

Dick furrows his brow. “We weren’t having sex, Jay.”

“Last night you were dosed with fear toxin.”

“Yeah,” Dick agrees, not following Jason’s non sequitur.

“How much do you remember?”

Dick rubs his forehead and thinks about it. “Enough. It sucked like it always does. But eventually Tim was able to get me some antidote, so I probably missed the worst of it.”

“Don’t you carry it with you?” Jason asks sharply.

“Yes, but there were civilians who were exposed, too, so I gave what I had to them.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Of course you did,” he mutters.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

Jason grunts but doesn’t deny it. “Regardless, you were still riding it a bit when you got home.”

“You know how it is. The antidote works best if you get it fast. And even so, there’s always some residual that just takes a little time to wear off.” Dick scrutinizes him. “What’s going on, Jay? Did I do something embarrassing?” He tries for a half-hearted grin, but it fades when Jason’s face remains hard.

“You pleaded with me not have sex with you.”

“I…what?” Dick gapes, but his mind immediately spins, grasping at ethereal memories to try to make sense of what Jason had said.

“You heard me.”

“Jay, I was tired.”

“Yeah, you were. Tired and dosed with Scarecrow’s toxin.” Jason is suddenly coiled energy, pent up in the small kitchen. “You said, and I’m gonna quote you here on this Dick, this is a direct quote: ‘Please don’t. I don’t think I can bear it tonight, it hurts too much. Can we not? Please?’”

Dick ducks his head and stares into the dark depths of his coffee. Snatches of memory come back to him and, okay yeah, that maybe sounds familiar. Dick remembers at one point thinking Jason had shredded his back with the flogger—which hardly makes sense—and was coming back at him with the cane. _Shit_. He looks up to see Jason staring, narrow-eyed, at him.

“Jay, I was high on _fear_ toxin.”

“Yeah, I get that, Dick. Fear toxin. The stuff that makes you hallucinate _your worst fears_. Jesus Christ, Dick, tell me that what we’ve been doing isn’t your worst fear.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Dick says, emphatically, truthfully. His worst fears have more to do with seeing Jason, or Tim, or Damian, hell even Bruce, beaten and bloody, than with anything having to do with Dick's own blood. 

Jason sits on the stool across from Dick, points an accusing finger at him. “I’m gonna ask you a question and you better not fucking lie to me,” he says, with the sharp edge of anger. 

Dick gives him a small nod and braces for the question.

“Do you enjoy what we do.”

“Yes,” Dick says without hesitation. It’s not a lie. Most of it he likes. There’s just that small part that he doesn’t.

Jason makes a frustrated sound. “Do you enjoy _everything_ we do?”

Dick opens his mouth to respond, but…as much as he wants to lie and tell Jason that yes, he enjoys it all, he can’t do that to Jason, who has come so far in regaining his agency, has given so much of himself to Dick, including, hugely, his trust. He clamps his mouth shut again.

Jason swears a blue streak as he pushes to his feet, knocking the stool over as he goes and it clatters onto the floor. He paces a couple times in the small kitchen then leaves, stomping into the living room. Dick walks in just in time to see Jason pick up the television remote and hurl it against the far wall; it explodes into dozens of shattered fragments.

“Jay—”

Jason whirls around. “ _No!_ You shut up,” he yells, pointing an accusatory finger. “You son-of-a-bitch! You _lied_ to me—”

“Jay, I never lied—”

“Bullshit! Lies of omission! Even if you never said it specifically, everything you did led me to believe you _liked_ what we were doing.”

“I _did_ like it, Jay. I _do_. Most of it.”

Jason scoffs. “Most of it, sure. Just not the sex parts.”

Dick shakes his head emphatically. “No, that’s not true. The sex is great. It’s better than great. It’s just…”

“What? It’s just what, Dick? Just that you don’t like the BDSM parts, right?”

“No, look, even some of that I like okay. I don’t mind you restraining me, dominating me. And I…I don’t mind kinda rough sex. Those parts I like fine.”

“Jeeeesus, I’ve been _hitting you_ for _months._ ” Jason starts gasping in fast, deep breaths. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he says, gripping his hair and squeezing his fists hard.

“Jay…Jason, listen to me.” Dick steps up close but doesn’t dare touch him. “Please. It’s not that bad. It was fine. _I_ was fine. You never went too far. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Jason jerks his wide eyes to Dick. “Nothing you couldn’t handle.” He barks out a humorless laugh. “’Cause _that’s_ how you want your boyfriend to think about your sex life.” Jason’s breathing even faster, and he can hardly get words out past his frantic breaths. 

“Jeez, Jason, sit down, would ya? You’re gonna pass out.” Dick pushes him to sit on the couch. Thankfully he doesn’t resist. Dick places his hand lightly on Jason’s shoulder. "Four beats in, eight slow beats out, just like Dinah showed you."

Dick rubs circles into Jason’s back for a few minutes, and if he’s honest, he’s kind of glad for the minute or two to collect his thoughts. 

When Jason finally gets control and leans back on the couch, he closes his eyes. “You’re a bastard, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, resigned. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

“This ends now.”

Dick’s heart thuds in his chest. “Jason, listen. Think of it like… Okay, you hate mincemeat pie, right? But you eat it on Christmas because it’s Alfred’s favorite and he makes it’s as a special treat, and you don’t want to disappoint him.”

Jason glares up at him. “Keep digging, Golden Boy. Jesus. You let me beat you because you didn’t want to _disappoint_ me?”  
  


“Yes. No. Jason, I want to be with you. If that means I have to bend and compromise a little, it’s worth it to me.”

“This isn’t about where we’re going to get take-out from, you ass. It’s about partner abuse.”

Dick scowls at him. “No, it’s _not_. Look, you know I could get out of pretty much any restraint you care to put me in. And we both know that if I said stop, or Detroit, or whatever, you would stop. It was my _choice._ ”

“Oh my god, will you listen to the words that come out of your mouth? That is not how relationships work, asshole. It’s a give and take, remember?”  
  


Dick sits next to Jason and stares down at his hands. “It’s just pain, Jay," he says quietly, before looking up again. "It’s not like I haven’t had worse, much worse, out on the streets as Robin and Nightwing.” He shrugs. “I wanted to be with you. I _want_ to. If that’s the price, I’m willing to pay it.” 

Jason frowns. “Yeah, well, I’m not.” With that, he stands and leaves, grabbing his leather jacket from the hook on the wall as he goes and slamming the door behind him. A couple of minutes later, Dick hears Jason’s motorcycle rev to life and roar down the street.

Dick tips over to lie on the couch and wraps his arms over his eyes.

Fuck.

* * *

Jason disappears.

It’s not unusual for him to go radio silent for a couple of days, and no one worries too much when he does. But after five days, when they’re on patrol together one night, Tim casually inquires if Dick has seen him. After seven days, he gets a text from Damian demanding to know where Todd is. When Alfred _calls_ after nine days, Dick concedes that he needs to drag his ass to the Manor and give them some sort of explanation. 

Sitting at the kitchen table facing a team of inquisitors, Dick sighs tiredly and gives them the barest facts.

“What do you mean you had a fight?” Damian cross-examines him.

Dick shoots him a look. “I said we had an _argument_ , and I meant exactly that. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“What did you argue about?” Tim asks.

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “That’s…not important. He’s just…keeping his distance for a while. But he’s mad at me not you guys. He’ll be back at the Manor soon enough.”

Alfred insists on feeding him before he leaves, and after, before Dick can slip away and back to his apartment, Bruce appears and cajoles him into some OG patrol in Gotham, not that he called it that, and not that Dick doesn't know Bruce's ulterior motive.

Sure enough, a couple hours in, while they’re standing on a high perch watching for any signs of trouble, Bruce says, “Jason’s been gone for a while.”

“Yep,” Dick answers tightly.

“Does that have anything to do with the Scarecrow incident a couple of weeks ago?”

Dick does a doubletake. 

“The timing seems to correspond,” Batman points out.

Right…detective. Dick sighs. “Look, that might have had something to do with it. But it’s complicated. Mostly I screwed up, but I’ll fix it, I promise.”

Bruce just watches him from behind the cowl. “I know you two have been…dating.” His mouth seems to trip over the last word a bit. “I’ve stayed out of it because you two are grown men and you’re not actually brothers, but if being in a relationship is going to affect the work—”

“I’m doing my job fine, aren’t I?” Dick snaps.

“Yes,” Bruce admits. “But Red Hood hasn’t been seen in Gotham in a couple of weeks.” 

“I told you, I’ll take care of it,” Dick grinds out. 

Thankfully Bruce drops it, but for the rest of the night, Dick’s uncomfortably aware that Batman is watching him closely. The patrol passes uneventfully for once, but Dick’s still tired when they finally get back to the cave, wrung out from the tumultuous emotions that haven’t gone away since Jason stormed out of his apartment all those days ago. 

“I’m beat,” he says as he peels off his domino. “I think I’ll crash here tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. You know you’re always welcome here. This is your home, Dick.”

He mostly believes that, but it’s still nice to hear now and then. As he heads up the stairs, Bruce is suddenly there, large hand lightly touching his shoulder. Dick’s on the first step, so when he looks at Bruce, they’re eye to eye. 

“Dick,” Bruce says, pushing the cowl off his head. “Earlier…I didn’t say what I meant to say.”

“Uh, okay. What did you mean to say?” Dick braces for more recrimination. 

“What I meant to say…what I wanted to _ask_ was…are you alright?”

“I…what?”

“I asked if you’re okay. You mask it well with the others, but I’d like to think I’ve known you long enough and well enough to know when you’re hurting.”

Dick blinks in surprise. Damn. Maybe the therapy Bruce started after Jason came back is really helping. He leans against the cave wall and sighs. “I screwed up, B. And I’m not sure Jason will forgive me.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Dick grimaces. “Ah, not so much, no. But...thanks.” If he weren’t so despairing, he might actual find humor in the idea of telling Bruce what he and Jason have been up to lately. 

Bruce studies him for a moment. “Alright. Get some sleep, Chum,” he says warmly, and squeezes his shoulder for a second before nudging him up the stairs. 

* * *

He tries four of Jason’s safehouses before he finds the one that looks like it’s currently being lived in, then he settles down on the couch to wait. Sunlight slowly creeps across the wall and the sun is setting as Dick pulls his feet up and burrows down into the couch, worried that he’s wrong about this being Jason’s current domicile. The next thing he knows, it’s pitch dark and he’s being woken by the sound of a pistol being cocked. 

“The family’s asking about you,” Dick says, more calmly than he feels. "They're wondering where you've been."

“Not my family.”

Dick sits up but the gun stays pointed at his head. “Come on, Jay, don’t be like that. I know I screwed up. I get that. But don’t take it out on the rest of them. They care about you; they’re worried about you.”

Jason releases the hammer on the gun, flicks on the safety, and tosses it carelessly onto the coffee table. As he walks away, he strips off his helmet and jacket. Dick stays where he is, listening to Jason rummage around in the kitchen for several minutes. When he returns, he’s carrying two bowls. He shoves one into Dick’s hands. It’s pasta. By the sound of it, Jason had just warmed it up in the microwave, but Dick definitely didn’t expect him to share.

“Thanks,” Dick says, certain his surprise is audible.

Jason just grunts as he sits down in the chair across from him.

Dick takes a bite. It’s good. Some sort of thin white sauce and lots of vegetables. 

They eat in silence for a while before Jason huffs loudly and tosses his bowl onto the coffee table, crossing his arms. “You’re an asshole,” he growls. 

“I know,” Dick says readily. “I know I screwed up. I should have been honest with you and all of this is on me.”

“Why weren’t you? Honest with me?”

Dick looks down at the bowl in his hands. Swallows. Gathers his courage before he says, “Because I’m selfish.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

He raises his head to look at Jason. “I wanted you. I wanted us. And you were…pretty clear that that was something you were looking for in a…partner.”

Jason curses and stands up, grabs his bowl from the table and snatches Dick’s from his hands. He storms into the kitchen. Dick listens to him bang things around in there for a minute before he sighs and gets up to follow.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Jason’s back as he enters the kitchen. “I really am, Jay. And I get that this thing between us is over. But, please…please don’t cut yourself off from your family—from the people who love you—because of me. You’ve worked so hard and you deserve… I’ll keep my distance when we’re on patrol and at the Manor.”

Jason finally turns around and glares at him. “No.”

“No? You mean…? Oh, okay, sure, I get it. Just, ya know, give me a little fair warning and I’ll make sure to keep myself scarce when you’re planning to be around. I’ll tell Bruce I’m going to focus on Bludhaven for a while, stay outta Gotham. He won’t miss me if the rest of you are there.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dick rubs at the back of his neck. “Ah, okay, I’m…I don’t what else—”

Jason turns abruptly and opens the refrigerator, pulls out two beers, opening them both and shoving one none too carefully into Dick’s gut as he walks past. Dick looks at the beer in his hand then follows Jason back out to the living room. He’s already sitting when Dick gets there. 

Jason takes a long drag off the bottle before using it to point at Dick. “I’m still really fucking pissed at you.”

“Yep,” Dick nods. “I get it. Just tell me what I can do. Do you… I can…There’s talk of starting a west coast branch of the League. I could volunteer to go work with them.”

Jason blinks at him and then tips his head back and rests it on the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re annoyingly self-sacrificing, you know that?”

He doesn’t know what Jason’s getting at. “What…what do you want me to do, Jay? Just tell me. I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.”

Jason raises his head and glowers at Dick. “I want you to get your head out of your ass. I want you to tell your boyfriend if you don’t like something he’s doing to you in bed, or outside of bed, for that matter. I want you to learn to fucking _communicate!_ ” 

Dick’s mouth dries up and he stares. “When you say boyfriend,” Dick says, then stops and clears his throat. “When you say that, are you talking about us specifically, or more of an in-general kind of thing?”

“Both, you idiot!” Jason wedges his beer bottle between his thighs and scrubs his face with both hands, and then visibly gathers control. After a moment, he looks back at Dick. “When I first told you about my…preferences, you asked me why, and I told you that a big part of it is about trust. About knowing that you would trust me not to hurt you. But that trust is supposed to go two ways. I need to trust that you’re gonna tell me if there’s a problem. With anything in our relationship.”

“That’s…that’s present tense,” Dick says slowly. “Do we still have a relationship, Jay?” His heart jackrabbits in his chest.

Jason glares at him. “I don’t know. Do you think you can be fucking honest for once in your life?”

Relief washes over Dick and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I can. I promise. I will.”

‘Yeah, alright,” Jason grumps. 

"So...we're okay?" Dick asks, feeling him out.

"As long as you stop lying about shit." 

“So, what about the other stuff.”

“God, use your words!” Jason snaps.

Dick laughs, then schools his expression. “Jason,” Dick says as seriously as he can make himself, “whatever will we do about the fact that you prefer to experience sex with your partner within the construct of BDSM, and I prefer not?”

Jason stares at him for a long moment, then he stands up and steps over to Dick. He holds out a hand. Dick takes it and is pulled up and into a tight embrace. He melts into it and the tension he's been carrying for the last two weeks, finally starts to dissipate. 

“You gotta talk to me,” Jason murmurs, the words muffled in Dick's hair.

Dick squeezes his eyes closed tight, breathing Jason in. “I will. I swear, Jay.”

"Yeah, okay." Jason gusts out a soft breath and Dick feels the warmth of it on the side of his head. “And the rest of it... We’ll figure something out.”

Dick takes a chance, uses his words. "Love you," he says, softly, then holds his breath.

"Yeah, I love you, too," Jason says, though it sounds like it pains him to admit it.

Dick smiles into the side of Jason's neck.

**Author's Note:**

> So, hi. I'm not new to fic writing, but I am new to writing in this fandom. Be gentle with me? 
> 
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